"Fix your mind on the adjective 'blunt' and the substantive
'pistol-shot'; they will do you good service."
They did! And I recommend them to anyone who finds it hard to overcome
monotony of pace and languor of diction.
"When you come to tell old Surefoot about his daughter's love," the
letter goes on, "you should fall into a positive imitation of his
manner: crest, motionless, and hands in front, and deliver your
preambles with a nasal twang. But at the second invitation to
speak out, you should cast this to the winds, and go into the other
extreme of bluntness and rapidity. [_Quite right!_] When you meet
him after the exposure, you should speak as you are coming to him
and stop him in mid-career, and _then_ attack him. You should also
(in Act II.) get the pearls back into the tree before you say: 'Oh,
I hope he did not see me!'"
Yes, I remember that in both these places I used to muddle and blur the
effect by doing the business and speaking at the same time. By acting on
Reade's suggestion I gained confidence in making a pause.
"After the beating, wait at least ten seconds longer than you
do--to rouse expectation--and when you do come on, make a little
more of it.
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